The River Club in New York hosted a sweet-16 party in 1998 for debutante Marissa Bregman, a friend of Nicky's. It was covered by a reporter from the New York Times "Styles" section, and the whole story ended up as a star vehicle for Nicky. It seems that Nicky and her good friend Olympia Scarry took over, grabbing boys off the dance floor and kissing them.
And not everything made it into the Times's account, says Patricia Eden, the River Club's membership secretary. "There were a lot of other things that took place that I'm not going to discuss on the phone," she says, hanging up.
Kathy doesn't like such talk, and she doesn't quite believe it when the Post's "Page Six" runs an item saying Paris was doing a karaoke version of a Madonna song at the Moomba club in Manhattan wearing a coat over fishnet stockings, a see-through camisole, and a thong.
"Oh, absolutely not!" Kathy says. "The girls were singing Madonna at one of the new places in the city, and it was a lingerie party, and I know exactly the outfit Paris was wearing, and it was a little short thing with a little fur that goes around it and little shorts that go under it. It wasn't a G-string! Paris is the most modest girl."
Rick Hilton looks up from his plate and asks, "What are Eminem's big songs?"
Paris brightens. "Eminem? He's so funny—he's hysterical."
"Eminem?" Kathy says.
"Conrad has the CD, Dad," says Nicky. "Remember? You got mad."
"No one has a style like his, and no one's gonna copy him, either, 'cause he will totally embarrass them!" says Paris.
"Well, I guess I missed all that," Kathy says.
"Does Puff Daddy perform a lot?" Rick ventures on. "What is his big song?"
Kathy looks exasperated. "Well, would ya know him if you tripped on him?"
Rick thinks a moment. "No."
Next topic of conversation: Puffy's legal troubles—the gun charges, bribery, assault.
"Well, just because you're a celebrity doesn't mean you shouldn't get in trouble if you do something," Paris says.
"Oh, yeah, celebrities think that all the time," Kathy says quickly.
"You keep interrupting me," Paris tells her mother.
There's a long silence.
Nicky laughs again, dryly and somewhat mysteriously.
"There are some people, I guess," continues Paris, "who feel they can get away with anything—"
"This is just so ironic," scoffs Nicky.
Kathy giggles nervously. "We were having this conversation last night," she says.
No one says anything for a while. The silence is deafening.
I say, "Your eyes are so blue, Paris."
"Yeah," says Paris. "They're contacts."
Nicky says, "Mine are real."
Whoa. Worth reading in its entirety.